Veterans Day Assembly

Happy Veterans day!

I have no idea how to lead into the rest of this post except to say that it's truly awesome that my Dad can be around for days like today. This was our conversation this afternoon:

Me: "Dad, I know I've said this before, but there was a time I really feared you wouldn't be around to even meet my children and then here you are today, going to Colin's school assembly for veterans day. And you're doing great!! It's so amazing Dad."

And he said something like,

"Yes, it is. Every day is a gift and I'm grateful for every day that I'm given. Today was very special." 

I wish the me, who sat stunned and sad by his hospital bedside, when he told me that he had cancer, could have seen into this future. I wish I could have seen today. Today, when Dad accompanied Colin to school as his special "veteran guest". To see them sitting together at the school assembly and to see Colin proudly introduce his Grandpa, "who was in the Navy", to the rest of the school. Just as each of the children who brought veterans did.

Or to see my Dad, last night, showing the boys all his old Navy gear from when he used to fly. To see my boys mesmerized by it all- the helmet, the gear, the sword and the picture of his airplane on the carrier. To see my Mom and I laughing on the couch, after he dramatically pulled out his sword and in turn, caused the boys to jump back about five feet!

Finn!

The sword!

My boys know him. Not as Pop-Pop, who is sick. But Pop-Pop, who is funny and patient and interesting and who will toss them onto the pillows yelling, "Rough. House. City!!!" without any warning.

He is here. Fully living. Even though cancer is also very much a part of his life, and in turn, our lives.

Last week my parents were once again in Iowa, as they are every three months, for my Dad's check-up. As always, we held our breath, all week, until we heard the news. "Complete remission!" My parents drove from the doctor's office straight to our house where we stayed up until almost 12:30 a.m, recalling how it's been NINE years since he was diagnosed and what a journey it has been. We talked a lot about his doctor and how grateful we are to have found him. He is a brilliant myeloma specialist, who also gives each patient as much time as they need, who can explain the complexities of myeloma in understandable terms and who really, truly cares. Brains, compassion and determination to give patients time and attention. What a powerful combination!

Thank you Veterans, for your service!

Chicago Marathon 2012

They did it!

Sunday was a beautiful day to run a marathon! Not that I ran one.... but I watched my brothers Kyle and Gavin complete their first.

The weather was crisp and sunny. 

We got to see them at four different spots; mile 8, mile 14, mile 16 and mile 25.

My favorite spot was mile 14 at the designated team myeloma cheering section. Everyone there had been affected by myeloma in some way and many had loved ones who were running for similar reasons as my brothers. 

By the way, Kyle and Gavin raised almost 8,000 dollars, well past their original goal! To everyone who helped make this happen, thank you!! It feels good to know that so much money was raised but also that so many people care.

After the race, we all went out for breakfast and then headed our separate ways. 

It was such a special day.

****Huge thank you to my in laws who watched our under- the- weather triplets while we were in Chicago.

Beat Myeloma

Kyle on a long run, training while on our family vacation. I joined him on my bike the last few miles.

This weekend we are heading to Chicago to watch my brothers complete the Chicago Marathon, to raise money for Multiple Myeloma research.

I'm so excited! And so proud of them. And so grateful to those who have donated to this worthy cause.

My Dad was diagnosed with multiple myeloma seven years ago. At the time he was having terrible back pain which as it turned out was caused by numerous lesions up his spine. Bone pain and/or fracture is often the first sign of myeloma because this cancer lives in the bone marrow and weakens the bone structure. By the time the bones are fracturing and the cancer is found, it's often pretty late stage. This was the case with my Dad.

Cancer sucks. I've watched my Dad go through hell and back. It's hard for those of us that love him so dearly, to watch. I'm not even sure my dad will ever let us know how hard it is to spend years cycling through chemo treatments, constantly scheduling check-ups out of state with his specialists, or undergoing countless bone marrow biopsies. Or what it must feel like to live day to day with cancer sharing your cells. He makes it seem..... well, okay. He goes about his days just the same as he always has, with a twinkle in his eye.

I know that no matter what, cancer will never have the last word in our family. Never has, never will. Cancer has not soured my Dad's perspective that life is a beautiful, fun, humorous adventure. His optimism, faith and that twinkle in his eye has never ever lessened.

Cancer is there. It always is. In his body and on our minds. But it's not the boss. It will never get the best of my Dad or our family and it feels good to know that. Perhaps it's his positive attitude that has freed us kids from worrying too much.

On Sunday when my brothers are running the marathon we'll all be cheering loudly on the sidelines and having fun together. The only reason cancer will even be mentioned is because now there's more money to destroy myeloma.

Take that cancer.

For more information on multiple myeloma, go here

For information on the myeloma program at the University of Iowa and it's director Dr. Tricot, perhaps the best doctor EVER (I'm very partial), go here

For more information on the marathon that my brothers Kyle and Gavin are running and to make a donation if you'd like, visit their facebook page or their donation page.

Imperfect beauty

view from the hospital window

There are days in your life that really stand out. Beautiful days that you hold onto tight and look back on during the more difficult times. 

Graduations, nights out with friends, weddings, births, special birthdays, days spent at the beach watching your babies play in the sun...

Then there are the days that seem anything but beautiful. The ones which on paper you'd never think would be a day to remember, much less hold onto tight to, think back on with a smile and a longing to re-live. But somehow they become just that.

Today was one of those days for me.

I spent the entire day sitting in the hospital next to my Dad, who is recovering from pneumonia... most likely brought on due to his lack of an effective immune system... due to his last bone marrow transplant... due to his cancer. 

Outside his window big, fat beautiful snowflakes fell to the ground.

I kept thinking about how just about a year ago, I was the one in the hospital and he was the the one keeping me company. Life can change on a dime, that's for sure. 

My Dad has had a tough recovery since his transplant in November. Very tough. Thanks pneumonia. 

But he's slowly coming back. He's got the right drugs now and today it seemed that he was literally getting stronger, brighter, and more alive with each passing hour. 

We talked sometimes, said nothing at other times, napped and watched the Republican debate, analyzing each one of the candidates (discussing politics is one of our most favorite things to do!)

He is a great listener. And wise. 

I had some questions that have been swimming around in my head for a while now.

Like, 

"Do you think there's something you are supposed to learn from all this or do you think it's just random that you got this cancer?"

"Do you really believe that there's a reason for all this or is life just a happenstance crap shoot after all?" 

I know, both are essentially the same question.

You see, it always comes back to this....

"Why?"

and more importantly "Why YOU?"

I'm sure this is true of many people who have gone through serious illness or other life challenges but I can only speak of my experience, having a loved one with cancer.

They know things. Secrets.

And if you're willing to ask the questions and willing to really listen, they'll tell you what they've learned.

My dad has cancer. That's not going to ever change.

 He's pretty darn sick right now and when he recovers from this pneumonia, he can look forward to re-starting a chemo regimen that will last for years. 

Yup, on paper this day could be categorized as a real downer, and the larger reality could be also be seen as a bit of a downer. 

But it doesn't feel like that right now. 

Not at all. 

Driving home, the only thing I can think about is how grateful I am for this day with my dad. How blessed we are as a family to have each other and these times together.

Today will be remembered as one of my most favorite days. A day that when I look back on it, I will smile and be grateful for it's imperfect beauty.

Thankful, Hopeful, Prayerful.

I have much to be thankful for this year.

My family, friends, faith and of course, my boys.

Chris, Colin, Carter, Everett and Finley

Lunchtime!

and our sweet Olive, who is sooooo good to all of us.

This year I'm especially thankful for modern medicine. From the researchers and chemists working behind the scenes to the doctors, nurses and many other staff who work tirelessly and with dedication, even on holidays, to bring care to those who really need it. 

If you happen to be one of those people, I sincerely thank you. 

In truth, this Thanksgiving was a mixed bag for me. This one will be remembered as part of the year we were blessed beyond our wildest imaginations. The year we've watched Colin grow more into his awesome little self and gave him THREE brothers to grow literally side by side with. We have terrific kids that bless us with their vibrant personalities every day.

This Thanksgiving will also be remembered as the day my Dad was so deep in the valley of sickness from his transplant (his 3rd), that he was admitted to the hospital. The Thanksgiving that my dad's temperature was way too high, and the Thanksgiving that it hit me, he really does have cancer. And it sucks.

I'm writing this post with Finn wrapped to my body, his fuzzy little baby hair against my lips as I type. 

He can't sleep.

He smells so good. 

Having him wrapped to me is like getting a constant hug.... which tonight I welcome.

We just put our tree up. It's fake but it's beautiful. 

Christmas music is playing over pandora and every now and again Finn pulls his head back to look at me and smile. Like he's just double checking I'm still here.

I keep picturing my Dad and I out to breakfast at our favorite spot. It's where we've had so many brunches and great talks. It's the place he'd order from and bring me when I was on bed rest with the triplets, huge and and hungry and unable to move. He took such good care of me.

I can see us there, laughing and talking and looking back on his transplant. The transplant is behind him and he's healthy and the myeloma is undetectable. 

That will be a great morning. 

Oct 2011

Home

This morning, 6 a.m. and ready to play! 

Back home in Chicago!

I could hardly wait to hug and kiss my boys. 

Chris did an awesome job of caring for them as they were all still in one piece when he picked me up.

I also feel so grateful to my in-laws who took them all in, kept Chris feed and helped out with the boys.

My weekend in Salt Lake was really really nice and I'm so glad I went. My Dad was still feeling pretty good after his round of chemo on Friday so Saturday and Sunday we were able to explore the city a bit, try a yummy new restaurant, and go for a walk. 

On Monday my dad received melphalan, a wicked chemo (not that any are easy to take but this one is really no fun!) but one that will hammer the myeloma. He receives his stem cells today and then begins the slow decline into what he calls, "the valley". The only way out is through!

As we sat in the infusion room amongst many others also living with cancer and watched the cocktail of drugs slowly dripping into people's ports, I kept thinking about a few things:

1. . It sucks to watch someone you love walk through fire

2. No one gets through this life without challenges

3. While we often can't control the challenges that arise, we can choose how we respond

4. Family and friends are EVERYTHING in this life

5. Dr. Tricot rocks!

6. Huntsman Cancer Hospital is a wonderful place, filled with smart and caring staff

A few examples of why I find Huntsman exceptional:

They offer free valet parking every time you arrive and they greet you with a big smile

While in the infusion room, around noon someone walks through and says, "Mr. Mooney, what can I bring you for lunch?"

There's a wellness center with things like yoga, acupuncture, nutrition education, counseling... all free for patients and their caregivers. 

The view is incredible. 

View from just outside the infusion room

The hospital sits half way up the mountain and overlooks the whole city and valley. I only had my iphone with me so my pictures don't do it justice but trust me. If you have to be treated for cancer, you may as well have this peaceful view while undergoing the treatment. 

And because you never know who might randomly stumble across this post, I feel I should say that 

if you or someone you love is diagnosed with myeloma, there's a lot to be very hopeful about. The statistics that come up when you google myeloma often don't reflect the most current, exciting, and hopeful treatment advances that are happening every day. 

My dad's life is very full and wonderful and as soon as this most recent transplant is behind him, he'll return to it. 

Complete Remission!

Just got word that my father's cancer remains in complete remission.

I feel relief, joy, thankfulness.

Every six months, my dad flys back to the Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City, Utah, gets poked and prodded and then meets with his doctor to hear if his cancer has returned.

One of the ugliest aspects of multiple myeloma is that although you can achieve complete remission, as of now, there is no actual cure. I hate that part. But I will take complete remission.

My father's doctor is Dr. Tricot. He is a brilliant man who dedicates his time, brain and energy to researching and treating multiple myeloma. I've never met him and yet I feel so indebted to him. I imagine what it'd be like if I ever were to meet him. What would I say? How do you even begin to thank a man who manages to keep your loved one alive? There are no words.

Sure, my dad has great will to live and an enviable positive attitude. But that's just part of it. In order to beat this disease, you need outstanding care. Not only has Dr. Tricot provided the most aggressive, effective treatment possible, but he does it in a caring and compassionate manner.

I'm just so thankful that somehow, through a series of coincidence, guidance, and fate, we found Dr. Tricot. I pray other families who find themselves facing cancer, can also find their Dr. Tricot.